You know, I really don't feel obliged to apologize for taking so long to update. And there shall no longer be Raoul bashing because one very anonymous reviewer made me feel guilty, and I wrote myself into a big hole that swallowed me up and sent me spiraling into the abyss that is writers block, thank you so very much for that, anonymous reviewer. I have only been seeing two roads that I can go down in this story and I don't like either one, so I have to find a third route somehow. Oh well, here is the second chapter, hope it does better than the first.

I do not own in any way POTO

A week passed without any sign of Christine.

The first and second days that she did not appear had little to no affect on Erik's mood. He was elated, and practically skipped about his home on the lake's shore. She would come, but perhaps not so soon. The boy was likely keeping a close watch on her because of their recent argument. It would be pointless to hope that she would return within two days or even a week. So Erik remained patient. The third and fourth days, he began to work on the beautiful song that had formed in his mind over the past few days. It was, to put it in simple terms, pretty, light with a melody that danced around and brought a smile to Erik's face. But there was room for improvement, and Erik played it on his organ, occasionally omitting a note, or adding one or extending a note's value, just generally perfecting the piece.

The fifth and sixth days, Erik was in a panic because his house was not ready for Christine's arrival. He was in a frenzy of cleaning, dashing about his house, dusting, scrubbing or polishing something or other. When the house was in pristine condition, Erik sighed and noted how plain the house was. He decided that shopping was necessary. The next day, he went out and bought a bouquet of bright, multicolored flowers. He also purchased a pair of gloves that would fit Christine, and an elegant dress that would match the gloves. He returned to his house and placed the dress and gloves on the dress in the Louis Philippe room. He contented himself for the rest of the day by imagining Christine in the dress and gloves.

Erik was hardly concerned when the week had passed and Christine had not yet visited him. He did, however, worry about what he was to do when she did arrive. He had quite a bit to make up for, and he tried to decide how best to apologize. Erik ruled out begging and pleading almost immediately. Reflecting upon when he had done it in the past, he realized that his pleading had probably been one of the things that had driven her away from him. He spent a whole day deciding how and how not to behave around her. He still needed to smooth out the rough edges, but he had a good idea of how he should act when she was around. He tried his best to recall she had reacted to each of his gestures toward her. He seemed to group them all into one generalization; fear. Every way he acted toward her had frightened her, and he understood why she had left him for the Viscount. He was stable and reliable, where as Erik was unpredictable and hardly sane. He would need to impress Christine in the short amount of time that they had together, so he felt that a total reconstruction of his behavior was required. He spent the remaining six days in that week altering the way he processed his emotions.

Two weeks and no sign of Christine.

On the first day of the third week, Erik tripped over the corner of a rug. He fell forward and hit his head on the arm of a chair. A stream of curses flowed from his mouth and he threw the chair that had caused his pain across the room. A thought came to him; what if he got angry and lost his temper when Christine was with him? He would scare her away again! He could not afford to lose her again, so he devoted the vast majority of his time to finding a way to relieve his anger without erupting into a fury. For the whole week he worked on this, and he eventually settled on a very effective method of easing his stress and reducing his anger before it could mount into a rage. He had discovered two small stones on the shore of the lake. So small in fact, that they could both fit in the palm of his hand at once. They were as smooth as glass and of a very entrancing color, so he put them into the pocket of his coat and continued to walk along the shore, racking his brain in search of a way to control his anger. He had distractedly put his hand into his coat pocket and begun fiddle with the pebbles. He found himself distracted by the way they felt against his skin and how they sounded when he tapped them together. He had discovered his method of keeping calm.

Three weeks had passed with no sign of Christine.

Erik was now worried. The flowers he had bought had begun to lose their color and wilt. The gloves and dress had remained untouched in the Louis Philippe bedroom. Erik's food mood had diminished into hopeful anxiety, and he constantly took out his pocket watch to check the time, simply because it was something to do. A though had crossed Erik's mind; he had not received his salary from the managers. He hurriedly wrote a note to them, stating that he would receive twice the normal amount, seeing as he had returned his last two payments. He also excused them for forgetting about the payment, seeing as they must have been busy with other matters dealing with the recent trouble in the Opera, and that he was willing to grant them a pardon if they did as the note instructed. Erik left out the part about himself forgetting about his salary. After all, without him, the managers would lose control of everything.

Erik delivered his note to the managers' office and took to wandering about the empty halls and secret passageways of the Palais Garnier. He listened to the gossiping of the ballet rats and scoffed at their ignorance. They spoke of how the Opera Ghost had stolen some girl or others hair pin or ribbon or powder puff or anything of that nature. Erik smiled to himself, and was sorely tempted to show them what the Opera Ghost really did, and that he was not the petty thief they imagined him to be. But he suddenly remembered that he was expecting Christine. How could he have forgotten? He practically flew down the hallways and passages of the Opera House, taking the fastest and shortest route back to the house by the lake.

But it was useless; Christine was not there and she had never been there in his absence. He sighed and paced about his home, his hand going to his coat pocket and rapping the pebbles, which he always kept in his right coat pocket, together. Throughout the week Erik worked on his music and even attended a new production that the managers put on. He critiqued the performance, but he was so distracted during the performance that he could not even recall its name.

Five weeks and Christine had still not come.

Now, Erik was nervous and even angry. Was she coming at all? Had he gotten his hopes up and for nothing? Or worse, was Christine lost? Had she come into the cellars, attempting to enter his house and lost her way? Could she be hurt? Was she even alive?

These thoughts assaulted Erik's mind and he took immediate action. He made several rounds of the cellars, checking every corner and behind every set piece. But to no avail, Christine was not there. It seemed as though she never had been. He made another decision; he would go to the Chagny manor and see for himself if Christine was alright. He slipped out of the Palais Garnier unnoticed in the darkness and made the short journey to the balcony that had become ever so familiar to him. He ascended the drainpipe and perched on the railing for a moment, looking into the always lit bedroom. Christine was asleep on the bed, though still wearing a fine dress. He watched her sleep, her chest rising and falling with every breath she took. Her golden hair seemed to be radiating light.

Erik allowed himself the pleasure of watching Christine sleep. He wished the moment would last all of eternity. But it was not to be, for the door opened and Christine stirred, lifting her precious head to look to the door. It was the Viscount. He leaned halfway into the room and said something that Erik could not hear. Christine shook her head and beckoned the boy into her room. He came in, shutting the door behind him as Christine straightened her dress and came to sit on the edge of the bed. The boy took a seat beside her, gently draping his arm over her shoulders. Christine rested her head against his chest and drew closer to him. The boy said something, turning his head and raising his eyebrows looking for Christine's reaction. She smiled and nodded, her shoulders shaking with soft laughter. Why couldn't she react that way when Erik spoke to her? The boy smiled in return and pulled her in a little closer. They sat in that manner, just enjoying each other's company, faint smiles upon their faces as they gazed out into the night sky.

Erik felt physically ill for how much emotional pain he was in. Christine was not coming back! She had never intended to! She was never going to return, regardless of whether he was alive or dead. Erik blamed the boy, for it could only be him that had deterred her. He had talked her out of keeping her promise, and he would pay for that.

Erik sought a more suitable place to hide, for the boy and Christine were making their way out onto the balcony. Satisfied with the dark corner behind a decorative plant, he hid and watched the couple exit the room and come to stand on the balcony. The boy's arm was wrapped around Christine's waist and her hand rested on top of his. They stood in that manner for a while and Erik watched them, fury building up inside his chest. He wished to simply execute the boy then and there. It would be much easier to win Christine over if the Viscount were dead but then again, maybe not if he was the one that had killed him.

Suddenly, an out of breath servant came up to the boy and whispered something in his ear. The boy's expression grew solemn, and he kissed Christine on the hand before excusing himself, following the servant back inside. Christine was content to look up at the crescent moon and wait for the boy's return. Erik thought that this may be his only opportunity to confront Christine.

He silently came from behind the plant and stood just behind her. He breathed in the sweet perfume of her hair, and he knew that she was unaware of his presence. Unfortunately, it could not remain this way.

"Christine," he spoke in a level tone, not overly loud but not soft either.

The young woman spun around quickly, an expression of absolute confusion on her features. This quickly changed to one of fear, and all the color left her face. Erik knew she was about to scream.

"Be still, child," he said, placing his gloved hand over her mouth. "Please do not scream."

He cautiously removed his hand from her mouth, and was relieved when she did not scream.

"But…" Christine began. "You're dead!"

"Don't be silly, Christine," Erik snapped. "Do I look dead to you?"

Christine opened her mouth as if she were about to speak, then shut it and looked warily up at Erik. He wished those words hadn't escaped his lips.

"Why didn't you come back, Christine?" Erik could not stop his heart from speaking with his mouth. "You promised! You promised me…"

He turned his back to her and fought off the stinging tears of rage and sorrow that pricked at his eyes. It was ridiculous that one girl could do this to him.

"Erik," Christine spoke meekly, as if afraid. "I had full intentions of coming back, but…"

"But what?" Erik cut her off, spinning around to face her, his voice a deathly quiet whisper. "You had to stay here and hold hands with your fiancé, eh? Yes, I see! Much more important than keeping a promise to a dead man! I could do nothing to make you keep it, so you don't! I see now!"

Erik let out a single sob and turned away from her once again. He hadn't meant to attack her like this, but his heart had taken up lodging in his mouth, and he had no control over it. He was going to lose her again.

"Raoul kept me here!" she spoke up defiantly. "I was going to come and fulfill my word, which wasn't even necessary because you are clearly not dead, but he cares for me and does not want me in harms way, not that you would harm me. He was afraid and didn't leave me out of his sight unless it was absolutely needed. Then we had to plan for the wedding, and that consumed most of my time, and there will not be a wedding at all if I cannot find a solution to one problem!"

It seemed as though Christine was relaying all of her troubles to him and he was taken aback. Tears ran down her cheeks and she shook with fury. Could she possibly be mad at him so quickly?

"Are you angry with me Christine?" Erik asked tentatively.

"What?" her head snapped up and she seemed to be immersed in thought. "Oh…ah…no, no, of course not, I am angry in general. You see, I do not have anyone to…"

She stopped speaking and looked with wide eyes and a brilliant smile up at Erik. He was eager for her to continue and made it known by two jerks of his head.

"Oh, Erik, this is wonderful!" she nearly hopped up and down in delight. Erik loved to see her like this and could only guess at what was making her so exceedingly happy.

"What?" he asked, anxious to hear what she had to say. "What's wonderful?"

"Erik," she started once again. "Would you give me away at my wedding?"

Well, there it is, please review and thank you for reading, I know it was slow, but the coming chapters will be much better. I once again say this is Dedicated to my friend Mac, and thank you to all that have reviewed, you have really helped me along with my writing and I hope you liked this chapter. It nearly killed me to write it, so if any of you are experiencing trauma, I'm there.

Thank you again,

- H.E.